“Don’t make me regret saying yes to this…date.”
“Oh, you won’t regret it.” Evidently, she likes to poke the bear too. “Since you like to be helpful.”
I furrow my brow. “Is that on your list about me too?”
“Maybe it is.” She nods to her car, which is, of course, red and decked out with Christmas lights wrapped around the windshield.
A flash of remembered pain lances through me. Regina loved Christmas. Regina used to wrap lights around her car too. It was lit up and flashing festively as we hopped into her car with little Mia, off to pick out a tree every Christmas season. Our home was decorated in those incessant lights from the staircase to the mantel to the goddamn bedroom doorway. That was why my Christmas plan for Regina had seemed so damn perfect. The perfect gift in a stocking just for her. A diamond ring to make her my wife.
Clenching my jaw, I can see that last Christmas unfolding again before my eyes. The blindsiding way she sliced my heart like a vandal slashing car tires. How she left us both, all at once, heartbroken. The pain I felt for months.
No, pain is too gentle a word for what she did when she left. It was hell.
My chest burns. My fists ball at my sides.
“Rowan?”
Isla’s voice is gentle and full of concern. Blinking, I scrub a hand across my beard, like I can erase the thoughts of a horrible Christmas years ago. When I woke up planning to spend it with the two people I loved mostin the world only to find an empty bed and abreak-up notein my stocking. I’m over my ex, but that doesn’t mean I want to stick my finger in the flames of memories. Or to make new ones.
“Are you okay?” Isla asks.
I must have frozen there for a bit. Stuck in the past. “Totally fine,” I say gruffly, ripping my gaze away from the lights.
“I don’t usually turn them on during the daytime,” she says, in a reassuring tone, and…shit. She’s astute.
I shake my head. “Whatever works for you. I’m all good.” Really, I am. I manage a small, sarcastic smile just for her. “Besides, the torture is good for me. Keeps me strong for the bet.”
She arches a brow in a way that saysI call bullshit,but she doesn’t toss out a reply. She simply nods, and after a few seconds, she heads to the driver’s door. I beat her to it. I might be a grump, but I’m still a gentleman.
I hold her door open, but a car speeds by behind us. I inch closer, which forces her to squeeze past me. Her back brushes against my chest, and suddenly, I catch the scent of her hair, or maybe her perfume. Something sweet and tart, like cherries. It drifts into my nose, lingering just enough to be dangerous.
I sneak another hit, inhaling her and enjoying it.
The scent is entirely too tempting, but I’m no longer thinking about why I don’t like Christmas lights.
10
THE HONEST GRINCH
ISLA
Once inside the car, I hand Rowan a travel mug. Steam curls from the opening, carrying tendrils of cinnamon and nutmeg through the air.
But of course Rowan eyes the cup suspiciously even as he takes it. “What’s this?”
“A cinnamon nutmeg latte,” I say cheerily. “Picked it up for you from High Kick Coffee.”
He studies the cup, then me. “You got me a latte?”
“I did,” I say, unfazed by his skepticism. “I had a feeling you might like something sweet, Mister Sweet Tooth. Plus, I know you’re not thrilled about thisouting.” I give that word particular emphasis. If I think of this time with Rowan as a date, which obviously he’s saying to get under my skin, my mind will wander in dangerous dating-ish directions. I must stay professional. “So I figured I’d make it more…enjoyable.”
Now I’m even more glad I stopped by the coffee shop on my way over. Yes, he’s a certified grump, but he also went through hell with his ex, and I’m guessing it has something to do with Christmas. While a cinnamonnutmeg latte can’t erase the past, it can make the present taste better.
His brow arches, but instead of arguing, he sighs. A long-suffering, put-upon sigh. Then he takes a sip.
And moans.
The manmoans.
